Mademoiselle Noir
by LaughLikeTheJoker
Summary: There are plenty of rather interesting souls trapped in the hotel Cortez, but he finds the little demon dressed in blood the most fascinating.


**I found this in a folder on my computer whilst i was digging around. I think i've posted it somewhere else before but cant track it down so figured i would upload it here. :)**

* * *

She'd never met a soul quite as dark as his.

The doors to the Hotel Cortez swing open and she stirs from her slumber.

The years in this place had been long and blurry, eventually fading into a whisper.

Like a ghost.

Like her.

Hunger lines her bones, an excitement makes her blood sing-a new tang to accompany the bitterness and boredom.

She drapes herself over the bannister overlooking the front desk, searching for the thing that had awoken her.

A pretty thing.

A pretty and deadly thing.

He wears the face of an angel, speaks like one too.

With words that sound like a dream or a spell.

He's asking Liz where he can find the witch and then Liz swallows first before looking over to her and asks with uncertain eyes "will you show him?"

The thing, not a man, nor a spirit, but something chaotic- follows Liz's gaze.

He tilts his head, the movement was slow but at the same time like a sharpcutting knife intended to cause suffering.

She rests her head on the railing, inky hair painting the golden balcony black. It slithers and hangs downwards like a darkened version of Rapunzel's golden rope begging for escape from the tower.

As their eyes meet, he gives her a smile that's sharp like a promise.

He ascends the stairs and the demons of the Cortez watch from afar.

_How curious._

She muses, as they swarm and sway too afraid to advance.

_Afraid of what?_

She pushes away from the balcony, standing upright and brushing her hair back behind her shoulders. A warning is whispered in her ear but she ignores it, swats it away as the chaos child reaches her.

_So much prettier up close._

She shakes away the thought, turns away from his baby blues in a fluid movement, hitting his front with her hair.

He follows her across the halls as she floats-_yes floats_

Her toes are en pointe, ever so slightly brushing against the carpet and her hair trails behind her like a veil, whispering sinister things against the floor as the strands caress it.

Carefully he avoids treading on it.

They don't speak but there is noise between them nonetheless.

His power and his darkness speaks, hers in return sings.

She stops beside a numbered door, conversation can be heard on the other side of it.

He sees her features; which had been as unmoving as carved marble, shift.

She frowns.

He realises whoever was on the other side of the door was not someone she was fond of.

Lifting an arm in a ghostly movement, she points with a pale and translucent flickering finger.

When the door swings open she is gone.

But the witch he was looking for is there, playing cards with the ghost of James March.

He notices that the ghost has the same dark brown almost black eyes as the little demon.

* * *

He hears her singing when he makes his way with Queenie to the Hotel Lobby.

"Step on white, beware of the night." She hums.

She's playing some sort of hopscotch game with the coloured patterns on the carpet.

"Step on blue, and you're through."

As he descends the stairs her words get louder, her nightmare nursery rhyme taking a sinister turn.

"Step on red and you're Dead."

A step creaks under his footing, and she loses hers, bare toes and heels landing flat on a circular red pattern.

She looks at the placement of her foot on the cursed colour, and repeats in a chilling whisper.

"Dead."

Her eyes change first, into an oily black the same colour as her hair, and then he sees red.

It trickles down her thighs, slowly, subtly until spidery patterns are created right down to her ankles.

A red choker adorns her throat, dripping crimson down her decolletage and staining her lace white dress a deep dark red. Completing the outfit is a matching pair of painted gloves, that _drip drip drip_ as she slowly walks to meet him as he reaches the last step.

Her hair becomes the most alive thing about her, rippling like waves on a stormy night, writhing like snakes.

It interlocks; the strands intertwining until they become a rope that forms a noose, wrapping around her throat and then, then it reaches out to him and it whispers.

Momentarily the witch is forgotten.

She sees him for what he truly is through eyes with bloodstained tears.

An old power is what stirs something inside of her.

And she finally understands why the others had been so afraid.

Her hair stills.

She looks at him, looks through him and blinks.

"Such a waste."

He says, with something akin to sadness or pity or was that disappointment in his eyes?

She tilts her head, furrows her brow, inky tendrils of her hair ripple and the blood continues to drip drip drip...

Angry.

"Such a shame that you were stuck here all this time."

She blinks away the hauntings on her eyelashes.

_He said_ _were not are.  
_  
He's watching her as she watches him, and he smirks like the devil.

She responds in kind with a similar smile.

He offers her a hand and she takes it, lets him gather up her limbs, lets him kiss her stained mouth and lets him breathe life into her lungs.


End file.
